Long Proceeds Poems
Long Proceeds Poems. Below are the most popular long Proceeds by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Proceeds poems by poem length and keyword.
Morning burns the sunlight out of the scene, and I am still struggling to recover my dreams, morning spill mud on the withered grass and you’re hopping from place to place trying to shelter the displaced human race. How nice it would be if we had a home by the sea where sea water filters in air and saturate the tormenting human desires.
The promise that was never kept was the gateway to my ultimate dream, and you destroy that promise when you came on the scene. The promise was made before I was born to build a palace for me on the foreign lawn, a palace where no king or queen lives, but where truth and love have the power to forgive. The palace is supposed to be me to live in complete harmony, sustain good health and longevity and spread love and peace throughout the four corners of the earth.
You promised to build a vineyard for me that run from the bottom to the top of the rocky mountain and build cabins where visitors can stop. You promise to ship tons of grapes every year and use the proceeds to build affordable houses everywhere, but the promise was never kept, and it strangled the universe to death and left me grasping for breath.
You promise to meet with me every year, but you are scared to death to fly in the air; you take long journey by sea, to move to and from your destiny, but someone is still waiting at the airport for thee. You promise this and you promise that and you even promise your trousers and your frock but never deliver what you have got.
You have never built the village on the block, and the people are still wandering around without socks. Every cycle your promises mount up to the air, and it causes the people to fear, not one of them came through and the people are still walking in threadbare shoes.
Walk with me to the village square and let me show you what is going on there; you have promised to meet the people there, but you never show up and the people are in constant fuss. Promises made promises kept will map out a stable framework and keep the vision alive and the nation will survive.
Katie was upset because she lived far away
Her job was lousy, she had no money for a rainy day
She asked her brother Rich for money but he said “sorry, no”.
Her mother had to die without her, for Katie had no way to go
Two years later she sent a letter to the executor, her brother.
Please, she said, “could I please have the ruby ring of our mother?”
Rich sold the house, and forgot to share proceeds with her, not one two-bit.
He told her that his wife had the ring, and loved it, so she could not have it.
Years later she saw the ring on the finger of a woman on a bus in Lurr.
She said “My mom used to have one just like it, it is beautiful, for sure.
Ring-wearer asked, “Is your name Katie? Are you from uptown Ming?
Katie nodded her head, and the woman handed her the ruby ring.
Your brother and I once were married, she said.
But he is a selfish man, stingy even in his head.
I was coming to Ming to find you and give you this ring.
Katie felt her mother with her that day, her soul began to sing.
Be assured your gardening secrets are held intact, never to be revealed, due to the magic faerie code.
Confidences among the lilacs are kept through this world into the next one, secured by these flying orbs.
Faerie folk’s unquestionable integrity and trust are rarely questioned, never wavering in any way.
Beware of one teeny tiny glitch in the garden area, where the elves and gnomes reside in summer.
Elves, gnomes, and leprechauns sometimes disguise themselves as gentle moral faerie folk, in order
To broadcast secrets and stir up trouble among the snails, grasshoppers, bees, and lightning bugs.
These charming deceivers will broadcast secrets to gain even an inch of status among the moon people.
The only saving grace is that their well-earned reputation proceeds them, so they are universally
Dis-believed as they simply lack the stellar integrity of the faerie folk.
Be especially vigilant and close-mouthed during giant changes of moon phases.
This is when these deceivers have the easiest times transforming, because portals are open.
Signed: The Faerie Council.
Picture this billboard, with the last line crossed out by a
Giant red X, above which an immature, volatile, vindictive
Mean-spirited, pre-adolescent
Leprechaun has penned
FAKE NEWS.
Every now and then,the words once easy flowing
hold back from revealing what I'm knowing
and lost I am to where this poem was going..
Building in significance
the words are lost to all innocence
release is a failure of intended diligence
and I'm trapped in my losing indifference.
Perhaps a laxative would work as a stimulus,
release and expel me from this chrysalis,
provide some imagery of dreamings less frivolous
excuse me while I get a little mischievous.
In this intense consternation
every word lies in constipation
seeking is rigidly intensified
and proceeds with force and agitation
as the thoughts remain anesthetized.
Am I, at any split-second, with no action?
My breathing and sleeping are my karma as well;
Karma is my physique-psyche interaction,
In it, there's the participation of each cell...!
Nishkama Karma or action without desire,
Lord Krishna in the Bhagavad Gita teaches;
Till we, from our tentative existence, retire,
This wraps us till our soul the final goal reaches...!
Karma of time, place, family, and each person,
Each one proceeds from the past, present, and future;
When our inborn conscience and consciousness worsen,
It tries to stitch truths together like a suture...!
It's, indeed, karma that keeps the beings going,
Isn't the action that makes streams and rivers flowing...???
Placed First in Standard Contest
Specular Fugue
Sponsor : Suzette Richards
_____________
watching passivity in activity
sad, sombrely sad
memories from womb rise and fall
little miracles of remembrance
holding the hands of Fate we wait
Wheels of Fortune revolves, race stagnates
we do not cry, hankerchiefs dry
timeless we watch, clock ticking
clock glancing, mindful of time
unseen cry, tissues wet lie around
loss centres, race proceeds
there is no Fate, only Self-determination
every forgetting is a miracle
uterine amnesia ~ stumbling and ascending
sombre joy replicates in silence
active we look away, passive and still
Born like a tender infant in nature,
Why do you soon change your nomenclature?
Does stress, like nerves striking the human brain
Craze your equilibrium and cause strain...?
Progress process of an infant proceeds,
Passes each phase fulfilling many needs;
Your growth spurt jumps and leaps abounding hills,
Your change to gusts, gales, and tornado thrills...!
Flute, horn, clarinet, oboe, piccolo,
Dwelling within these, breath of life you blow;
Impulses and cognitions bound, and pound,
Into existential hymns, these resound...!
You nurture the naysay nerve of nature,
Niftily you numb each legislature;
In life's moments of minute mundane gist,
Do you teach me: each gist is its own twist...???
25 April 2023
Perhaps you saw it too.
Yesterday, I saw multitudes of people on a runaway train.
It appeared that their minds were in chains, as they cried in pain.
I saw dejection on their faces, and they were longing for change.
Their fears were clearly visible aboard the speeding locomotive.
It was rolling downhill on a collision course, full speed ahead.
It seemed there were no brakes, and they were bound to crash.
Their tears had blinded their eyes from past and present realities.
Broken promises and dashing hopes forced them to plead for better days.
Perhaps you see it too.
Today, I see dried eyes of hope, hands and hearts, bruised from battles lost. I see worn and wearied feet covered with calluses of defeat. I see fearless feet injured and covered with sores earned from heated conflicts. Yet, they continue their walk of destiny and purpose. I see hands daring to labor on to win a never ending war that must end. But then, hearts I see, unbroken, unwavering, full of hope, and still believing. Today, I see eyes bright and opened wide, focused on the prize.
Perhaps you see it too.
Tomorrow, I see good and evil in Battle Royal and a continuance of turmoil on many a nation’s soil. I see many already troubling Republics sorely tired from the toil, highly terrorized, heavily heated and ready to boil. I’m sorry to say, I see little hope for those who are straddling the fence. But I see joy, gladness, and happiness too, for hearts that are convinced. And I see great Peace for those who have found its Prince. Though hate proceeds, it shall not long prevail. The world has yet to see the greatest show and tell because hate shall soon be led away to the gates of hell. I’m looking up and I can see through the dismay and all the dust. I see clearly that there is hope for all of us.
12302016 “We see ...dimly". 1 Corinthians 13:12
PS Contest 256, Brian Stran
A man I met once said to me,
“Love does not fall down from the trees”
A common expression from these parts
When you search with your mind, and not with your heart.
Love should be sought with the inner soul
Not as frost bitten leaves, withered up with cold
Neither rotten fruit, cruelly stabbed by blight
Nor nuts that have ripened, then taken flight.
I think love must grow out like a vine
If the roots are strong, it proceeds to climb
It entwines the heart, crushes trailing fears
Then spreads and stretches with the years.
I do not believe love lies upon the ground
For we would spend our lives hanging upside down
But if it grew along a vine
It could grip and swing, with hands of time.
Nestled is the slender twisting trail canyon between timeless steep
aspiring mountains and meditative sopheric sea waters
The frail road deepens into lofty thickness further from the harsh
volcanic valley where passion’s throes are ever in abeyance as days grind
on at a petty pace, as winding cathartic minds strive to be free and leave their
fears of mortal sin, intrusive family— religious dogma dismissive, oppressive
My yearning heart writhes in agonizing prose knowing senses magma
guilt etched into my very core, now behind
I’ll unwind, in a soft bed of sand that awaits
Spring’s strong winds of life call, visible the sea in the
distance, in instance, heads tilt, abut, falling upon my
wooer’s shoulder, he presses gears, downshifts reaching tireless
slate-gray force spreading over ocean floors flooding with no remorse
An uncommon gallantry he displayed, a warrior’s valiant looks
fired up my very essence
A dimming sun immerses into a hesitant horizon, sweeping breezes spin
warm spells embracing an enchanter’s realm,
with its charm he gazed into languid eyes
Silhouettes stark, foreheads bow, touch, sweetened sweat from
jasmine bushes alongside the road, perks of riding the stallion of steel
evoked smiles in sideview mirror, heated rims, spokes spun
Dismount a stroll, toes sank in sand, holding hands dodging driftwood
washed ashore, I chose a serpent shaped, a souvenir!
I’d glue turquoise stone eyes, a keepsake, or an omen?
Zena’s cove of guilty pleasures seal fates, certainly
not rhythmic lapping waves against the shore nor salmon sunset
or a waxing crescent moon, and not the wistful ocean’s teary spray
Its tears wetted my cheeks in afterglows
Lest moonlit sky amongst shy hidden stars
Pangs subside, panic betides, doctrine ridden not from our marrow
Womb’s flower in bloom, a secret kept, an advent arrival
The planets wept, forms beyond birth of celestial bodies,
one existence yet does sin exist in celestial angels?
He held tightly, softly whispered let’s run away,
his proposal on adulthood’s precarious cusp,
bestowed him a refusal, sweet youth ruins
Alas and alack life proceeds
steady as ebb and flow of the tides
After a precious gem she’s named, sweet lord
never more blissful, daughter
Caressed are tranquil ocean waves